Not Your Average Back Yard
by Mistere101
Summary: The Fifth Annual Hunger Games are Going to be EPIC! A must see for every Capitol citizen! The odds are are surely not in your favor.
1. The Begging To you my Readers For SYOT!

**I lean over the railing that borders the roof of the training center. The sun is rising over the city skyline of the "marvelous" Capitol. **_**Marvelous my ass, **_**I think to myself. I never understood why this sadistic place seemed so wonderful to my parents.**

"**I can't let them do this," my female counterpart suddenly bursts out. She'd been so quiet that I'd almost forgotten she was standing next to me, "Not to me."**

"**What the hell are you blabbering about?" I demand. I arch my brow in confusion.**

"**The Games start in a few hours, I don't have time to explain this to **_**you."**_** She mutters through a scowl, "The prep teams will be back to abduct us in a few minutes anyway."**

**I watch as she takes a few steps back then takes off running towards the ledge. I realize what she's doing a moment too late. She pushes herself over the railing and falls. My eyes follow her all the way down, her burgundy hair flying through the wind. I cringe as her body hits the ground, I force one more look at her mangled, bloody body. Bile rises in my throat at the sight of her and I vomit off the side of the glass structure. My vision goes black and I can hear a cannon sound in my mind.**

The Fifth Annual Hunger Games are Going to be EPIC! 24/25 Tribute spots available! SYOT! The quicker the spots are filled the quicker you can see your tribute be crowned victor. HURRY HURRY HURRY!

Here are the districts and their jobs. I don't care if it isn't completely accurate, you must use it to avoid confusion:

**District One - **Luxury Items

**District Two - **Weapons and Peacekeepers

**District Three- **New Technology

**District Four - **Fishing

**District Five - **Shepherding

**District Six - **Scientists and Medical

**District Seven - **Lumber

**District Eight - **Textiles

**District Nine - **Hunting

**District Ten - **Mathematics and Architecture

**District Eleven - **Agriculture

**District Twelve - **Coal Mining

**Name: (First+Last)**

**Age: (12-18)**

**Gender: **

**District: (see above list)**

**Personality: (SUPER-detailed. Mary-Sues and Gary-Stu's will be killed brutally, violently, and embarrassingly in the bloodbath)**

**Appearance: (. I want at least one physical imperfection, preferably two. But that doesn't mean nobody can be attractive, either.)**

**History: (As detailed as possible, nothing too tragic).**

**Family: (Names, Personality, Attitude to tribute, and Appearance)**

**Friends: (Same as above)**

**Reaped or Volunteered? If volunteered: reason?:**

**Attitude towards Games? Towards Capitol?:**

**Alliances: **

**Friendships?:**

**Romance?: (not every tribute can be Romeo or Juliet. )**

**Private Training Strategy: (I will not actually write what happens in the private session, but this will give me a good idea of how they will act in the arena)**

**Any mishaps with other tributes?: **

**Strengths: **

**Weaknesses:**

**Optional:**

***Quotes?: (for any point in the story)**

***Chariot outfit:**

***Interview outfit:**

***Reaping outfit:**

***Tribute token: (keep in mind that unless you specify that you don't want one, your tribute will have a token, so no worries if you can't think of one. I'll come up with one. That's what authors are for.)**

**Other:**


	2. Final Tribute List

District 1:

M: **Rico DeAngelo**

F: **Dominique Wright**

District 2:

M: **Apollonis Cretia**

F: **Katerina Lush**

District 3:

M: **Jared Arrington**

F: **Nina Hollisya**

District 4:

M: **Mace Preacher**

F: **Kiana "Ashe" Quinn**

District 5:

M: **Damon Brinvin**

F: ** Nevaeh Akdovs**

District 6:

M: **Rae Voltaire**

F: **Capita Crockett**

District 7:

M: **Jasper Daulding**

F: **Jo Heming**

District 8:

M: **Chris Youngblood**

F: **Crikette May**

District 9:

M: Hito Wardon

F: **Meringue Alice**

District 10:

M; **Retch Mans**

F: **Alaina Rowe**

District 11:

M: ** Wyatt Fortan**

F: **Jeldora "Dora" Melo**

District 12:

M: **Zane Clavell**

F1: **Vasilisa Brookshier**

F2: **Anisa Kreering**


	3. Rico's Reaping

**Rico DeAngelo : District One**

I sit up in bed and rub the sleep out of my dark eyes. I yawn and stretch my hands back over my head and down my back. I swing my feet over the edge of down mattress and grin. Today is the day.

Today is the day of the Reaping. The last Reaping I have the pleasure of attending actually, as they are for the ages of twelve to eighteen only. I've trained for this day for the past five years. The day I'll finally outshine my _perfect_ older brother, Arab.

The thought of him immediately transfers my grin into a scowl. He is my constant competition, my main nemesis. I want nothing more to kill him and piss on the headstone.

It's because of him, that my father resents me.

It's because of him, that my mother pities me.

It's because of him, that I will volunteer for the Hunger Games this afternoon.

It's because of him, that I live my life the way I do; always plotting the ultimate revenge.

I walk over to my closet and pick out the clothes I've had laid out for the past week in anticipation of this epic occasion. It's not every day that I get to show up my older brother.

I smooth out the sleeves to my sleek black jacket and tuck my silver shirt into my tight, dark jeans. I've never really been that much into fashion, but even I can get absorbed by all the glamour of Upper Class District One. I tuck the bottom of my jeans into my high top, metallic gold sneakers, and walk down to my bathroom.

I smirk at myself in the mirror. Other than my silvery shirt, I look like a huge wall of black. My obsidian hair, spiked into a style known as a _fouhawk, _provides little contrast to my dark skin and eyes.

I barley glance at my parents as I walk out the door on my way to the square, where the Reaping will be held. I'm half-way out the door when a meaty hand clamps down onto my forearm.

"Where the hell do you think you're going, punk?" Arab whispers in my ear.

"Away from you, Asshole." I grumble through clenched teeth. He repulses me. I rip my arm free just in time for him to get his grip around my neck.

"What did you just call me?" he asks with sarcasm.

"You heard me, Asshole!" I am literally spitting the words at him. He apparently doesn't like this very much. The next thing I feel is my back bust through the oak door and my head thump against the pavement.

When my vision clears I see Arab's dark silhouette looming over me. I scramble to my feet and sprint off to the square with my mother close on my heels.

She never did approve of my desire to volunteer for these Games. My mother didn't favor Arab the way my father did. She'd always treated us equally, maybe even favored me, but even she couldn't stop my decision. _I_ will be the victor of the Hunger Games, and _I_ will kill my brother.

I reach the Square as the mayor reads the usual junk about the Games and the Capitol. I find my place in the crowd with my fellow 18 year old males. I know few of them, even fewer of them personally. Yet another thing to add to my list of reasons to kill my brother. I spend all of my time competing with him so; I have very little time to socialize.

Once the mayor concludes his speech he gestures to his right and introduces the District 1 escort. The beautiful, Dia Clearview.

The jewel encrusted woman sparkled in the sunlight. Her tan skin and startling black hair just add to her beauty. I notice myself biting my lip and scold myself immediately. I need to focus, not daydream.

"Welcome future tributes, to the 5th Annual Hunger Games Reaping Ceremony!" Dia screeches into the microphone, "And may the odds be ever in your favor!"

I crack a smile. The odds are never in our favor. They weren't I our favor during the rebellion, and they aren't now. They never will be.

"Taine Ories!" I hear Dia's voice ring in my ears then I see a young boy, maybe 14 or 15, walking shakily up the stage steps. I'd like to think that someone would take his place even if I wasn't here but, even District 1 isn't that brave. Volunteers usually arise when a sibling is reaped, or another close family member but, every once in a while, a brave soul rises and takes on the Games head-to-head.

"I volunteer!" I shout, making sure everyone can hear me. Then I saunter up to the stage and lead Taine down the steps. I plant my feet on the stage and place a grin on my face. I find my family in the crowd, my father wears a proud grin, my brother, a jealous scowl, and my mother and a tear covered face and gaping mouth.

My confidence falters. What had I done? I'd broken my mothers heart without giving her feelings a second thought. She my lose me; never see me again.

Dia's voice snaps me out of my depression, "Dominique Wright!"

I was as Dominique mounts the stage. She wears an outfit of her mothers. Before they were murdered Dominique's parents were very wealthy. Dominique and her three brothers had to sell most of her clothes to afford food but they must have saved one. She wears a golden silk tank-top and white denim pants with black boots.

I face her and shake her hand. We have history. The Games just got a whole lot harder.

Sorry it's a short entry I've been busy with my art and family stuff, but I'll try to update quicker from now on.


	4. Apollonis the Traitor

**Apollonis Cretia : District 2**

"Age is just a number," I think to myself, "Just a number."

Thirteen is not too young to volunteer for The Hunger Games. I've trained since I was eight for this day. I can finally show those Peacekeepers that I belong with them, even though I may not necessarily look the part. A lanky thirteen year old boy, who's way to tall for his age. I'd bet that I clear the six foot mark by now.

I hear a knock on my door. My mother, Jule, comes in my room and hands me a pile of clothes. I raise my brow in confusion.

"For the Reaping," she answers, "We were going to save these for your Volunteer Year but, only the best for our son."

Shit. I've been feeling guilty about the secret. My volunteer year has been set since I was ten. I am literally scheduled to volunteer for the Hunger Games in my fifteenth year. What I've neglected to mention is that I've decided to move that date to this afternoon.

My father never did like surprises.

Once my mother leaves I get changed. The clothes are nothing special, just a plain black tee with a plaid purple over shirt, and dark denim jeans. The clothes aren't expensive or extravagant but, I know why my parents chose them. They belonged to my brother. He wore them on _his _Volunteer Year. The year he died.

He placed second in the very first Hunger Games. Unfortunately, these are a Games were even second place means certain death. He knew what he was getting into, and so do i. this may be my last day at home but, it may be the first day of my new life. I'll never know unless I try.

My parents walk me to the square in central District Two. They don't look worried. They have no reason to be worried either, not that they know of anyway. Since this is not my scheduled Volunteer Year, I'm almost as safe as possible. I have a total of two entries in the glass bowl that contains the ten tens of thousands of teenage boy's names in District Two. My parents should be worried. They may never see me again.

I run and throw my arms around my mother. She gasp, as if shocked, and she may very well be shocked. I never hug my mother like this. I release my grip on her waist and look to my father. I extend my arm and shake his hand. He glares back; He knows.

I start to walk away, but my father lurches out. He grabs my sleeve and yanks me close to him.

"Don't you dare," He snarls in my ear, "Understand?"

"Dare what?" I ask with convincing curiosity, "Understand what?"

My father shoves me away. "Get out of my sight rat," He says turning away from me, taking my mother with him.

I stand there for a moment. Am I right to leave my family like this? Of course not. Then why am I going through with it? I want revenge. Not on the Capitol, or the Games, none of this is their fault. I want revenge on my parents, who are willing to give me up to my almost certain death. More importantly, I want revenge on that boy from District Four.

Wager Apfthammer. The sixteen year-old boy from District Four was all tht stood in Origin's way from returning home. My brother was my best friend. Wager stole him from me; made me cold; made me angry; made me vengeful.

I remember Origin's Games like they just happened yesterday. He was doing great. He'd already eliminated seven other tributes. He had plenty of sponsors.

He'd teamed up with District One and Four. After Origin helped Wager murder the girl from District Seven, Wager wasted no time in taking care of Origin. As the arrow entered his skull the Panem Anthem sounded, the Capitol seal appeared, and Thodis Templesmiths voice boomed; declaring Wager the winner; declaring my hatred; declaring my search for revenge.

I relive this memory every Monday afternoon, when my Career Camp does video analysis; where we review the previous four Games in order to memorize the previous victors strategies. I used to refuse to watch the first Games but, if I want to win, I need to know Wager's strategy, no matter how much I despise him. I find pleasure whenever a District Four tribute is murdered. I even smile at the more gruesome ones.

I've waited four years for my revenge. I'm not wasting three more waiting around.

The Great Clock in the Nut sounds signaling two o'clock. All eligible tributes should be filing into the square by now, but I stand in the same spot where my parents left me. I need to go, get to the square, but I just stare at the cobblestone sidewalk.

_Move_, I demand myself, _Now_!

I drag myself to the square and find me place in the section reserved for thirteen year-old boys. I find myself between a short stocky boy with carrot colored hair, and a boy a few inches shorter than I with golden blonde hair that falls in careless waves over top his forehead. Both are in my year at school, yet I know neither of them by name.

Ever since I've started train I've lost time and interest for friends. A few from before training began still hang around and hold meaningless conversations with me at the Café.

I listen intently to the history of Panem, the war, the rebels, the Capitol, and the Games. My father fought in the war, he was the second-in-command Peacekeeper for District Two. He had little to do, there were few rebellious uprisings in District Two, because of this the Capitol supplies us with generous rations.

As the mayor concludes his speech, he gestures to a petite young woman at his right, to take the microphone. She's new to our District. Our last escort, Dia Clerview was upgrade to District One two years ago, after one of their tributes won the games. Last year we didn't have an escort, the whole Reaping was done electronically, so when two orphaned siblings of dead rebels were reaped, people refused to watch the Games.

The Capitol didn't like this, so they sent out a message saying that if anyone was caught not viewing the daily recaps, public humiliation and torture would be the consequence. Four of the orphanage children were beaten. One died.

I return my attention to the small woman as she introduces herself as Teal Distance. Her name explains the pale green color of her skin. The golden flecks in her emerald eyes are intensified by the gold tattoos that border her face. Her hair is close cropped in the rear and get longer as it gets closer to her face, and is a striking black color. She wears a simple black dress that cuts off at the middle of her thigh and has either no, or invisible straps. She's beautiful, but then again, so was Dia. Teals' beauty projects youth and innocence, while Dias' was intimidating.

"Welcome to the Fifth Annual Hunger Games Reaping." Teal says. Her voice is small and soft. "Shall we begin with the ladies?"

Teal crosses the stage and reaches her hand into the glass ball. Her hand shuffles around the paper slips and I think about my old friends and old flames.

Four of those slips belong to Alpine, my old friend who still sits beside me every day in the Café.

Seven belong to Chevy, my brother's old girlfriend who visited every day for months after his death.

Twenty-four go to Ursa, the poorest child in town with bed-ridden parents and a three year old sibling.

_Anyone but them, _I pray, _Anyone._

"Katerina Lush!" Teal says slowly and clearly into the microphone.

Never heard of her.

When I see her mount the stage I wish I did know her. She takes small steps. I'm not sure if it is to show politeness, or because her dress is so tight that she has trouble walking.

She wears a tight knee length orange dress, with a fur shawl. Her long dark hair is styled tastefully atop her head, with a single strand laying across the ice white skin of her forehead.

She stands with confidence and shakes Teal's and the mayor's hands.

Teal crosses over to the boys bowl and pulls out a slip from the bottom.

"Wade Devins!" Teal screeches with enthusiasm. I watch as the tall broad shouldered boy mounts the stage. He wears an expensive silk suit and tie. He has to be at least eighteen, but while clearing six foot five and with his close cropped black hair, he looks twenty-two.

All the more memorable. A scrawny thirteen year-old boy taking the place of a strong eighteen year-old man. The sponsors will be tripping over one another to sing me.

After a moment, Teal asks if there are any volunteers. I take a deep breath.

"Going once!" Teal squeaks.

I close my eyes.

"Going twice!"

I spit up my pride.

"I volunteer!" I scream, throwing my right arm in the air, "I volunteer!"

The crowd around me separates. I see that they are making my path to the stage. As I walk along the pavement I get a few claps on the back, probably from the tributes in training. I mount the stage and meet Wade's eyes. He seems thankful but, I also detect a hint of jealousy. He just got showed up by a thirteen year- old. I'd be jealous too.

Teal outstretches her hand. I shake it.

"And what's your name?" Teal purrs.

"Apollonis Cretia," I say with a dazzling smile. Teal bites her lip.

"Brave and cute. You'll be just perfect." She says seductively the touches the tip of my nose. My cheeks feel hot, but I don't remove me smile.

"Well, there you go District Two," says Teal, "Your Fifth Annual Hunger Games tributes!"

I think of my parents; I'm a traitor.

I think of Wade's family; I'm a savior.

I think of Katerina; I'm an enemy.

I think of the Games; I'm a player.

"And may the odds be ever in your favor!" Teal screeches.

I close my eyes; I'm a victor.


	5. An Author's Apology

Really sorry that I haven't updated in a while. I started high school since the last update and have been swamped with homework. Trying my best to get the next reaping written, Get ready to meet Kiana Quinn.


	6. Kiana Newly Know As Keelie

**Kiana Quinn : District 4**

In my dream, no, not my dream, in my nightmare, the diagnosis came back positive

The doctor towered over me with a syringe. He plunged the needle deep into my scrawny arm and grinned.

"That should slow the cell division a bit," the doctor said with a cold devilish smile, "Don't want you to lose those knockers." As he said so he placed his hand under my breast and scooped upward. The nightmare blacked out as the doctor straddled my body and tore off my shirt.

I woke in a cold sweat. I knew it wouldn't happen like that way, but the fear was undeniable. The fear of the unknown. Brian and Keelie had gotten lucky, but would I too? Or would I end up like the others? Depressed; languid; scared.

Fred was at my door. Fred has always made me smile. Despite his cancer, he'd always stayed positive.

Cancer. I'd heard the word too many times; it still depresses me. The disease had claimed my mother, Jayden, Fred, and even little Maybelle had already been diagnosed.

"Kiana?" Fred asked looking at me, concerned.

"Hey there, lil' bro," I ruffled his dark hair , "Whats up?"

Fred smoothed his hair back into place and blushed, "Mom told me to wake you and Keelie up." He nodded to my right where Keelie, my twin sister, laid under her cotton covers. I smirk at Fred.

"Watch this." I said. I crept up close to Keelie and whistled loudly into her ear. Keelie swung her arm upward, startled, hitting me in the jaw.

"What the fuck?" Keelie demanded, rolling out of bed. I covered my mouth to keep from laughing too hard, but Fred had made his laughter no mystery. Fred was laying on his back, clenching his gut and cackling like an idiot.

Between gasps of air Fred spoke,"I can't. Feel. My ribs."

Keelie kicked him in the thigh," Get out, cretin. All of us need to get ready." She scolded.

"For what?" I asked.

Keelie's expression turned dark, sh seemed to age ten years," The Reaping, Kiana. It's Reaping Day."

Keelie and I stand side by side in the mirror. She wears Jayden's black hoodie and I wear Brian's. We're both wearing ripped blue jeans that lay snug against out thighs and calves. We take turns braiding each other's hair and step back into the view of the mirror to examine our work.

"Identical," said a voice behind us. I turn and see Brian standing in the doorway. Even though he's two years older, I'd always felt a closer connection to Brian than to Keelie.

Keelie often got herself involved with every piece of drama that occurred in District 4. Brian, on the other hand, has a relaxed feel to him, although he had nothing to worry about anyway, his cancer tests had come back negative

I smiled at him, "If you're so mart, who's who?" I asked raising my brow?

He covered his eyes and pointed towards us mockingly, then he began to recite the poem our mother had taught us when we were young, "_Ennie Mennie, Minnie, Mo, Catch a tiger by the toe.." _ He laughed as he removed his hand from his eyes.

"Smart-ass," I said punching his shoulder.

"Watch the language, Kiana," he reiterated, "You're only 17." He smirked at me again.

I'd taken notice that he was still dressed in his morning linens. "Are'nt you going to get dressed for the the Reaping?" I asked. He took my face into his hands, like he does when he wants to feel superior, but gently, Brain would never hurt me.

"I'm 19 now, Kiana," he said, "think a little."

The Reapings began when I was 12. The Games have always revolted me. I had to sit through the mandatory screenings with a bucket at my side; even the smallest drop of blood would make me retch.

I tried to shake the Games from my mind. There are thousands of girls in District 4 and I'd only accumulated six entry slips. It's a miracle that Jayden hadn't been reaped. Our families low income had forced him to purchase terresae, even though he was only eligible to be reaped for three years, he accumulated 27 entry slips.

The job of purchasing terresae has now been adopted by Fred. Fortunately, he would only have to purchase them for me, Keelie, and himself. Everyone in the house older than Reaping age has found a job to help pay our hellacious hospital bills.

"Stop," I told myself. I hadn't realized I'd said it out loud until Keelie spoke.

"Stop what?" she asked.

"Nothing," I replied," Let's get Fred, this is gonna be a long day."

Keelie and I had been wrangled into a large section of town square. From where we stood, with all the other 17 year-olds from District 4, I could vaguely make out the tall, luxurious buildings that made up Victor's Village. Two of the homes on the lane were occupied. One of the homes is occupied by a strapping young man by the name of Wager and the other to a thirteen year old girl named Mags, last year's victor.

District 4 is known for dominating the Games. We'd won half of the Games already, and people had already placed bets on us even before the tributes had even been reaped.

My eyes focused as I was blinded by a bright orange muscle shirt on the makeshift stage in the middle of the square. I'm a good fifty yards from the wooden platform where the bedazzled man stands, but his sparkles sill blind me.

Roman Mint. The bright eyed, cocky young man had taken his place as District 4 as soon as the Games had been announced five years ago.

Even from a distance Roman's features were distinguishable. He wore golden contacts that matched his golden blonde hair that hung in straight waves across his forehead. His neon orange v-neck tee clung tightly to his form. He was built, but lean, not like some celebrity body guard who looks like a rhino on two legs, but more like a runner. His blue jeans had been distressed and ripped but it was obvious they'd been bought that way; they weren't worn like a real mans.

_No one from the Capitol is real_, I think to myself. Even Roman, who could look like a young District 4 fishing apprentice if he were wearing normal clothing, has been adorned with gems and thick black eyeliner.

Roman approached the mic.

"Whatta you think District 4?" he spoke with a clear, mellifluous voice, "are we gona have another victor this year?" most of District 4 erupted in cheers, all except the possible tributes. It doesn't matter how safe we should be, at least one of us standing here is going to die.

"Let's find out, shall we?" Roman says then crosses the stage to the glass bowl holding the male names. Roman shuffles the slips of paper around for a few seconds. I don't even have time to pray for Fred before Roman reads the name.

"Mace Preacher!" Roman announced with enthusiasm.

The boy was named after a weapon? I was expecting to see a huge bulking boy with deep sulking eyes and a scared face, but Mace's build is a lot like Roman's. Thin but built. His sandy blonde hair is styled the same as Romans as well, but that's where the similarities stop. Mace easily towers over Roman by 7 inches. He had to be at least 6'4".

"Next, the ladies," Roman said as he plunged his hand into the female bowl. I find Keelie's hand and squeeze it. I close my etes and chew my bottom lip.

Roman clears his throat, "Keelie Quinn!" he says with a smile. A tear falls from my eye and I look up at Keelie. Her terrified expression isn't for her, it's for me. We'd worked out the system years ago.

"Down with the Capitol," I whisper in Keelies ear. I leave her and head to the stage. I climb the steps and look out to the crowd. Keelie knows the plan, as does Brian, Jayden, and Fred. No one has told my parents; there as clueless as the rest of the District.

"Keelie?" Roman asked trying to get my attention.

"That's the name," I glared at Roman, "Don't wear it out."


	7. The Volunteering of Jo Heming

**Jo Heming : District 7**

"What is it?" I begged, trying to get around Mark's muscular body to see what he was working on.

"It's a gift," He says, laughing as I tickle his sides, "You'll get it after the Reaping."

The Reaping. I'd almost forgotten about the day that I'd either be pronounced free from the clutch of the Games forever or handed a non-returnable death sentence.

I ruffle Mark's dark curls. We've been friend for since I got my job at the lumber mill a few years back, but we really got close after the accident. His mother had also worked at the lumber mill. One day when she was running the ban saw she worked late, long past the time the last worker left. We were told by the investigators that she had dozed off while operating the machine and her temple was sliced by the serrated edge and she slowly bled to death after the slice left her lying on the floor unconscious.

Mark was ruined. For days he sat around with an expression that made him look like someone had asked him a question and no matter how hard he tried he couldn't find the answer. He came to me for help. I comforted him and he confided in me his every thought. We grew closer everyday and eventually he began to smile again, then laugh, and get back to being as much of his old self as he could salvage.

I tell him everything. Except for one tiny secret: I think that I might, hypothetically, be madly, undyingly, and irreversibly, in love with him.

(()) (()) (()) (()) (()) (()) (())

Back at home I get dressed in a green sweater and brown slacks. I borrow some of my mother's gold jewelry and have her curl my hair for the final Reaping of my life.

As I turn around I see that my mother, Marrianne, is crying as she irons my sister's hair.

Kai, my younger sister, is one of the most unlucky girls in District 7 right now. After my mother's surgeries, Kai was forced to purchase terresae for her, my mother, by brother: Joey, and my father: Joseph.

She's only 13 and already has seven Reaping entries. I'm 18 and I've only accumulated five.

After everyone is ready, the whole family heads to town square for the 5th Annual Hunger Games Reaping. My parents and Joey stay at the edge of the square after wishing me and Kai luck. I drop Kai off with a few of her friends and give her a hug.

As I walk away I think about how childish I've been towards her the past few years, We fight, we argue, we pull cruel practical jokes on one-another. I love her, but she constantly antagonizes me and Joey.

Eventually I meet up with Mark and Justice. Justice flashes me a smile and Mark pulls me into a hug. It takes all my will power not to melt into a puddle at his feet.

After he pulls away I run over to Justice and hug her. We are almost exact opposites. Next to my tan skin and flat dark hair she looks like a ghost with long curly golden locks, pale skin, and light baby blue eyes. All the boys at school swoon at her and a few dive for me after she rejects them.

The three of us walk towards the center of town near the area where all the 18 year old possible-tributes stand. As Mark and I reach the roped off area Justice gives us one last hug and waves us off.

_Lucky bastard_, I think to myself, _wish I was nineteen._

Mark and I plunged into the crowd of anxious 18 year olds, all hoping that they are finally free from the clutch of the fucking Capitol. Everyone's talking. My mind and vision blur as too many voices and bodies surround me.

"Jo"

At first I think I'm just imagining things, but I look up and see that Mark is trying to scream over the noisy crowd to talk to me. I walk closer to him and he leans into my ear so I can hear him better.

"Jo, look," he pauses. He sounds serious; scared; it worries me. "I, I really need to tell you something."

I arch my eyebrow at him then lean to his ear.

"Shoot," I say in a melon-collie voice.

"Look, Jo, I've been feeling this way for a long time, and," for a second I think hes going to tell me that he likes me, but before he can finish the mayor of District 7 steps onto the stage and announces the arrival of the Capitol escorts.

Mark slaps his hand over his face and frowns. Whatever it was that he wanted to tell me, he knows he missed his chance.

I give Mark a longing look then turn my attention to the mayor. He gestures to the left of the large wooden stage set up in the center of the square a few days ago. A tall woman walks onto the stage. She probably would've been six feet tall if she hadn't been wearing five inch heels and three feet of red extensions piled on top of her head. She wears steel breastplates tied together in the front with thin transparent thread. Under the metal she wears a black unitard that covers her from neck to toe. She is covered in silver jewelry; rings, necklaces, belts, earrings, and facial piercings. It's Moira Civil. The Amazon Warrior. Winner of the first ever Hunger Games.

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Moira's expression is cold and stoic. She finally introduced herself and plunges her arm into the glass bowl containing the boys names. I squeeze Mark's hand and hold my breath.

"Jasper Daulding!" Moira bellows.

It's hard to believe she's only twenty. She's been ruined by the Capitol and their Games.

Jasper walks onto the stage. He's young, 14, maybe 15 at the oldest. Despite his youth, he's very tall, reaching about six foot two inches; his dark spiky hair is about level with Moira's chin. He's lanky, but cute.

I look up to Mark. He's safe. Thank God. Something about his expression worries me. He looks relieved and terrified at the same time.

"I'm not safe until you're safe," he says, choking on his words.

Warmth floods my chest. I feel like he just pushed his way through hell and back just to make me feel special.

I open my mouth to reply, but I'm interrupted by Moira's grunt.

"Kai Heming," she grumbles.

"No," I whisper at first, shaking my head, "No, no, no, no! No!" tears streaming down my face I push my way through the crowd and up onto the stage. I realize that the entire District is watching me. Kai is halted at the bottom of the stage steps watching me with hollowed eyes, but her expression pales in comparison to Mark's. He looks at me with pure terror.

"Can I help you young lady?" Moira scoffs.

"I volunteer as tribute," I say wiping my tears.

"Fine by me. If you want a death wish, you've got it," Moira replies, seemingly careless.

I force my eyes to meet Mark's.

_I love you_, he mouths.

A tear streams down my cheek.

_ I love you too_.

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*** This chapter of "Not Your Average Back Yard" is dedicated to the most amazing girl on Earth, Emily Whitcomb. She inspires me to write and doesn't let me give up on my dreams. If it weren't for her this fan fiction wouldn't even exist. Thank you, Emily. Happy Birthday.***


	8. Love TriAlaina

**Alaina Rowe: District 10**

The dream worried me.

I stood, barefoot, on cold stone. Darkness surrounded me. Two lights broke out of the darkness, revealing a pair of hands reaching out to me. At first I'd thought the hands belong to the same body, but at closer inspection I realize that the hand to left is mocha brown while the right is pale.

I reach up and grasp the hands. I feel the warm and grit of the hand on the left and I automatically think, _Connor_. Then my senses recognize the cool softness of the pale hand. _Ethan_. The hands cause a mix of emotion, all of which overwhelms me.

_Connor Mount._ Despite his dark skin and even darker hair, his baby blue eyes stand out dramatically. While we haven't known one another for very long, I've come to long for his presence. We met when the bright-eyed 17 year boy asked my father, Nestle, for a job last winter. Winters in District 10 are brutal. Our schoolmasters tell us that District 10 is located in a region that used to be known as the Dakota's. Snow removal has become a major source of income for strong teen boys looking for a little extra cash.

I found myself doing odd things when he was around: Crossing my arms over my stomach in self-consciousness even though I'm often described as a twig; Blushing whenever he flashes me a white smile that contrasts his dark lips; Even sketching poorly drawn fantasies of the two of us embracing in a big pink heart. My feelings for Connor have been quite constant, and he's begun to requite the affection, but there's still one thing that causes me frustration.

_Ethan Davis._ The boy of 14 years has been plastering a smile to my face for a long time. I first met his shaggy dark hair, pale complexion, and silvery eyes in the 5th Grade. I was instantly attracted to his flirty wit and humorous banter and he seemed to latch to me. But the boy was most definitely not clingy. He rarely got upset or angry and shrugged problems that would break a normal person's spirit off with a flip of his dark hair and a bright half-smile. He seemed cute and readable, while Connor seemed to have a hard exterior that just happened to be wildly attractive.

Ethan hadn't necessarily shown interest in me so much as Connor had. Connor was the winner of my heart most of the time but from time to time Ethan would wonder aimlessly in and go just as easily without ever noticing he was there. The whole love-triangle concept always had confused me.

The hands being to pull me up, at first the feat seemed easy enough, two strong boys, lifting a small girl, but then it seemed someone tied 300 pound weights to both my legs. The hands trembled as the struggled to keep me in the grasp. It was Connor's hand that lost its grip first, leaving all the weight to Ethan. He kept his grip for a few seconds but the pull was too much for the younger boys' arms.

My small body was dragged down the weight into a dark abyss, the bright hands still reaching down to save me slowly dim in the darkness and distance until I can no longer see them. The darkness seems to go on forever until my body slams into hard grass-covered ground.

The jolt wakes me from my rest and I sit up in my semi-comfortable bed. The dream itches at the back of my head, almost as if it's trying to tell me something, but I put it aside and being with my usual 'crack of-10AM' rituals. I get dressed in the black oversized hoodie I borrowed from Connor, last winter and purposely neglected to return, and a pair of dark denim jeans.

I twirl my hair into a loose bun on top of my head and check how well my mousy curls of dark hair look. They seem to be working in my favor today and I decide to leave them as they are.

I walk over to my mother's jewelry box and crack the lid. A quiet lullaby greets my fingers as they gingerly open the pearl colored box. I slip my hand into box and my white fingers brush against the velvety feeling of the maroon felt of the boxes' lining. I search through my mother's silver bracelets and rings until I find it. I pull out a single gold chain with the District 10 seal hanging lightly at the bottom. Ethan gave me the pendant last spring for my birthday.

Ethan and I decided long ago that we were District 10-Deep. We wanted nothing to do with the Capitol and their Games. Ever since the war we've been paying for the Capitol neglect. I've often preach, when the rich wage war, it's the poor that die. When the Capitol does something stupid, it's the Districts that suffer… We deserve no punishment for the Capitols mistakes.

As I walk through my house I notice that my father and mother aren't home. I look at the clock and see that it's 1 o'clock in the afternoon. _Oops_. My parents must've left for work thinking I'd wake shortly after they left, but then I get another tickle in my mind. I rush over to the calendar to check the date. Circled thickly in dark red marker is todays date. The small square displaying the date of June 8th is written : _**Reaping: 1:30PM**_. I smack my hand over my mouth at my negligence of not remembering my least favorite day of the year, but panic surges over me as I read the small print pre-written on every District calendar for every reaping. **ABSENSE RESULTS IN INSTANT AND IRREVERSIBLE DEATH SENTENCE**.

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As I sprint to the square in the center of District 10 I arrive just in time to see the male tribute mount the stage. At first, the boys chocolate skin and height make me think its Connor. My heart skips a beat, but as I scan the crowd I see the real Connor standing releasing a sigh of relief with all the 18 year old boys. I quickly register at the desk outside the tribute circle ignoring the disapproving look of the Peacekeepers manning the stand and run to the 14 year old circle and meet up with Ethan while the Capitol escort interviews the Connor look-alike who has been re-introduced as Retch Mans.

Ethan gives me a warm hug and smile as I approach him.

"Alaina!" he says with smile, "Where've you been? Um, no offense, but you kind of got a little bed head going on up there"

I punch him in the arm, "Sarcastic ass-hole. You're lucky I decided to grace you with my presence at all, so quit your whinning."

He gives me a cute smile and ruffles my hair, his eyes settle on my pendent and he lifts it from my chest. "Gee, Laine, I knew you loved everything about me, but just because you steal my necklace on your birthday and don't return it, doesn't make it a present." He lifts his eyebrows and tilts his head down, meaning to give me a disapproving look, but his attempt is shattered by his everlasting smile.

I turn my attention to the stage as the purple skinned and ivy haired Capitol escort, Contra, reaches her long violet fingers into the girls bowl. I look to Ethan; his face is supportive and surprisingly serious he slides his fingers into mine and gives my hand a reassuring squeeze. The gesture isn't meant to be flirtatious, he's being genuinely supportive. I wrap my free arm around the slightly toned, lean muscles of his arm and lean my head on his shoulder.

The Reapings always worry me, this is my third so far and it seems to get worse every year.

The world slows as Contra read "Alaina Rowe" in a nasal accented voice. I cling closer to Ethan and he pulls me in tighter yet. His face is sheer terror, salty tears stream down his face. He looks the opposite of his normal self. He's devastated.

The Peacekeepers work their way through the crowd to retrieve me forcefully when I don't come on my own, they tear me away from Ethan as best as they can be he clings to my hand until they finally separate us at the base of the stage. The whole moment reminds me of my dream. The last thing I see before panic and exhaustion takes my consciousness is the Peacekeepers dragging Ethan flailing body screaming in desperation across the square.

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**I should be updating chapters a lot quicker now that I have my new laptop, but thanks to all the loyal readers who stuck around through the wait. I've had a lot go on in the past couple months, most of it not such great stuff. Lets put it this way, You know my username, not my story, but I plan to update more often so please don't give up on me. PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE review! **

**Check out "Not Your Average Back Yard"'s Facebook page at .com/#!/pages/Not-Your-Average-Backyard/239320919430997**


	9. Not So Brotherly Love

**Damon Brinvin: District 5**

Juliet and I sat on the maroon velvet couch in the naturally lit living room of my house. Her golden hair was curled elegantly, and her make-up, applied by my mother, was impeccable. Her ivy dress flowed softly in the wind around her ankles showing her golden anklet. The anklet matched all the rest of her jewelry; gold rings, gold bracelets; gold necklaces, gold earrings, gold everything. Beautiful.

The two of us have been dating for quite some time now, four months, I think. It's both a blessing and a curse. When Juliet first moved in down the block both I and my younger brother, Jonathan, fell for the 17 year-old beauty. While my brother spent more time with her, she chose my tanned skin and toned muscles over his immature affection. I'd say I felt sorry the kid, but I don't enjoy lying.

He can't be surprised that the blue eyed girl chose me over him. Has he never heard the phrase, "girls like tan and tasty, not frail and pasty". Anyway, ever since he got epically rejected by the hottest chick in District 5, he kind of became a player. He started whoring around the less attractive but, still bodacious babes in the district, yet failing to follow through on any of the relationships. Poor kid, at least he's getting some.

Jonathan entered the room where Juliet and I were cuddled on the couch. He glared at me with dark eyes full of hate, but I detected a bit of guilt. He didn't like not liking me, no one does. He wore a purple shirt with an elaborate, striking black design dominating the left half, covered by a black blazer. His dark, denim jeans flowed loosely, yet form fitting, down his legs to his shining black shoes.

He stalked past us into the kitchen, where my mother poured him a glass of orange juice.

My mother, Abigail, is very beautiful for her age. Her height and flowing blonde hair make her one of the hottest 40-something moms in District 5. It's been just her, Jonathan, and I since our father left us a few years back. I normally don't let myself talk about it, emotion, other than confidence, shows weakness.

My mother reminds me that I need to get dressed as Jonathan and Juliet are for the Reaping. The Reaping is annual event to choose which poor souls have to 'compete' in that years Hunger Games. I can't stand the Games. Watching teenagers kill and sometimes violate (if you catch my drift) on another on live television. The Capitol is the same way; Just a city of fake ass-holes who act like they have all the power when I doubt even two percent of them would lift a finger to fight out of fear a breaking a nail our ruining their hair, men included.

I rush upstairs and throw a white blazer over my slept-in black tee and slide on my worn light blue jeans. I check my dark hair in the mirror and rush back down the carpeted stairs when I see that it is splayed to perfect messiness across my forehead.

I reenter the living room to see Juliet and Jonathan sitting awkwardly on opposite sides of the couch. I set myself in between the two and throw my newly clothed arm around Juliet's shoulder. She gives me a half smile and looks apologetically over at Jonathan who is staring at the television watching the Reaping's of the Wealth Districts: 1, 2, 3, and 4. The boys from Districts 1 and 4 look strong as well as the female from 2. I think of how much I would never wish the fate of fighting those tributes to the death and how Jonathan probably wishes I get reaped.

My mother tells the three of us that we need to get going if we're going to make it to Reaping registration in time. I help Juliet off the couch and lead her out the door as she slips her hand into mine. I grin in satisfaction and notice Jonathan glare at me from behind. The three of us walk down the block towards the square. A few other groups of teens join us on the sidewalk, all dressed in nice clothes and jewelry. We all reach the square and I tell Juliet and Jonathan to head off to the section set off for 17 year olds after I kiss Juliet and give Jon a nod. I check our names off of the extremely long list of possible tributes then walk to my place with the other 18 year old teens.

I make small talk with the other boys and turn my attention to the stage as our Capitol escort, Shia, mounts it. The thin man has lightly blue tinted skin and shiny golden hair. His chocolate clothing makes his skin and hair stand out so much its almost painful to the eye.

He says very little before he crosses the stage and pulls a name slip from the girls bowl.

"Neveah Advoks," he proclaims in voice that is surprisingly deeper than I'd originally expected. A small girl walks quietly onto the stage. Her dark skin is matched by even darker hair. The girl can be no older than 13 and wears a small purple dress that hems around her knees with a bright yellow band across the waist. I feel bad that such a young girl will most likely die in the arena, but I'm glad that Juliet is safe, at least until next year.

I brace myself for the name on the male slip that Shia has just pulled from the bowl. I pray for Jonathan's safety, as much as he hates me, I just wish things could go back to normal without giving up Juliet.

"Damon Brinvin," Shia says loudly. I gasp once then come to my senses and head towards the stage with my usual façade of confidence. I step up onto the wooden stage and look out to the wide crowd of teens. Jonathan's wide, scared eyes meet mine. Before the Peacekeepers come to take Neveah and I away, Jonathan holds my gaze and screams over the whisper of the crowd.

"I'm sorry, Damon!" tears stream down his face, "I'm sorry!"


	10. Run, Hito, Run

Hito Wardon: District 9

I open my eyes to yet another day of torture. I roll of my make shift bed of stacked blankets and pillows. It's not that my family can't afford another bed; it's that my douche bag of a father stole my actual mattress when I yelled at him for slapping my mom… again. I've hated that dick-head since I can remember.

Lee Wardon. He's been my 'father' for sixteen years now, but it sure doesn't seem like it. His dark, demeaning eyes scare me and piss me off almost as much as the sight of his hand raised high in the air to hit me of my mom. He wasn't always this way; the fire is what sealed me and my mother's fate.

When I was 9 the rebellion was in full swing. The rebels from the lower Districts had made their way up through to District 9. In the war our District chose to stay with the Capitol, for strategic reasons, while we still despised them at heart, we knew there was no way we could win the war. Anyway, the rebels invaded District 9 and set it aflame. As my home burnt to the ground my young mind was encouraged to reenter my home to retrieve my childhood toy. The venture led to severe burns, scars, and overall depression. Unfortunately my father only suffered 1 of those injuries, and he's been taking his depression out on me and my mom for years.

I look out the large sliding glass windows that dominate my otherwise Asian inspired room. The summer sky is scattered with frothy white clouds, shining a brilliant white in the sun. As the sky seems to blend with the walls of my room as my sleepy vision blurs, it's as if elaborately painted Chinese dragons fly over the skyline.

I go to my closet and pull out my tradition silk, stiff collared shirt, which I've used every year for the Annual Reaping's. While most traditional shirt of this style is bright and designed, mine is stark black from neck to waist. I slip into thin blue jeans and stalk down the steps to greet the awful day that I'm sure this is going to be.

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When I enter my foyer to the right of my stairwell, I'm surprised to see Claire waiting for me.

"Hey," I say to quickly and awkwardly, "Um, what's up?"

"Your dad's working until the Reaping's begin and your mother is having tea with my mother." She says flashing me a pearly smile, "She sent me to make sure you were awake."

My reply is cut off by shock as I take in Claire's appearance. Her usually wavy black now hangs in straight strands around her thin face. Her olive skin is covered by a tight, black, one shouldered dress and a large necklace hanging heavily around her frail neck. Her expensive black heels make usually height reach up to mine, but although her beauty is stunning, I still think of her as a friend; nothing more.

Claire just recently got me to open up to her, and although I will entrust minor problems in her, I don't believe there is anyone in the world I can trust 100%; everyone disappoints you eventually.

"Hello?" Claire says, waving a hand in front of my face, "Anyone in there?"

I laugh and give her a friendly shove, "Come on," I say lightly, "We better get going I want to go see my mom." I lead Claire out the door and onto the street as the cool breeze, providing relief from the summer heat, blows the wind through my dark Asian hair and tickles my eyes.

Claire giggles as I blow the thin hair from my eyes. "You look beautiful, by the way," she says, gesturing to my silk shirt.

I raise an eyebrow, "I don't think being 'beautiful' is necessarily a compliment to a sixteen year-old boy." We laugh and continue walking down the road, making small talk on everything from our outfits to our classes for Fall Semester, until we reach the coffee shop where our mothers sit. They see us coming through the window and wave us into the small shop. I open the heavy door for Claire and am instantly hit by the smell of freshly c=ground coffee beans and herbs; it gives me a buzz.

Claire and I pull up two orange chairs to the table where our mothers sit. I say hi to Claire's mom and smile at my mom, Sarah. Her yellow hair is illuminated by the sunlight filtering through the advertisement covered windows of the shop. I hate how little I'd inherited from her. Her bright hair and blue eyes somehow got lost in translation and I got stuck with my father's dark hair and black eyes; I hate it.

Our waitress comes by to take our order and I get a black coffee and a soda. I'm that the caffeine will ease my nerves about the Reaping. The girls all get tea containing various calming herbs. My mom offers me a sip of her drink and though I'm weary to its effectiveness I take a drink. Not bad.

I get another coffee to go and our group heads out from the café and walks to the Square were the mayor has already begun the speech about the rebellion and all the other stupid shit that no one ever listens to anyway. The Peacekeepers manning the sign-in booth charge my mom for my tardiness and send me and Claire to the 16 year-old section where the keep us herded like cows; who do they think we are? District 5?

We reach our places as the Capitol escort and mayor trades places on stage and the young Capitol woman grabs the microphone. Her urgency and intensity cause the sound system to let out a loud screech as everyone in the district clenches their teeth and slaps their hands over their ears.

"Um, sorry" the girl says apologetically, "Hi, I'm Emilina" Her confidence has been cut in half after her faux paw. "Let's get started shall we," She gives the audience a half smile. The Capitol will most likely not hire her for a second appearance at next year's Reaping. The girl is young, maybe 20, 21? She wears a flowing blue gown and has her dark hair styled similarly to that of Claire's. For a Capitol citizen, she's surprisingly, Districtorial; I like it. She dips Her hand into the glass bowl filled to the brim with every male name between the ages of 12 and 18 in District 9. She pulls out a small slip and reads the name aloud to the audience.

"Hito Wardon!" she squeals, trying to regain her Capitol façade. My jaw drops and I almost drop my coffee. I plant my feet in place.

"No!" I shout back over the crowd, showing my defiance to the grotesque Games, "Pick someone else, I'm not going." The Peacekeepers were on me like white on rice. I peeled the lid from my coffee as the first one approached me and chucked the hot liquid at his face and judo kicked him in the genitals . I broke out in a sprint through the crowd. My peers helped me through and formed a barrier against the Peacekeepers as I ran through the square.

I hear Emilina call out the female tributes name as she tries to regain balance of the situation, "Meringue Alice!" The name means nothing to me and I keep running through town, Peacekeepers hot on my trail. I'd like to tell you that I got away; escaped to a better place, but running was never my strong suit.

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**So, I started writing this and I thought I was gonna have to start over; the beginning felt slow and undescriptive, but I would never change the surprise ending, which came as a surprise even to me. I really hope you like this chapter. Please Review! I'm really excited for the next couple weeks. My birthdays on the 18th and headed out to the beach on the 20****th****. Don't give up on me or this fanfic, I'm doing my best, give me a chance.**


	11. It Ends With A Tear

**Authors Note: So, Welcome back. I know it's been forever since I've updated (3 Months to be exact) and I feel really bad about it. Since you guys last heard from me a lot has happened. I got a job so writing on Thursday, Friday, and Saturday was out of the question, and I started second semester classes which include Chemistry and Geometry (I'm a freshman in High School, by the way) and I have had a non-stop flow of homework, but somehow I mottled threw to Spring Break (mine didn't start till Thursday isn't that stupid) and I had to quit my job to see the greatest movie ever, 'The Hunger Games' so in all honesty this is the most free time I've had in 3 months. If you're still reading this fic I congratulate you and thank you. I would also like to thank FoalyWinsForever for not giving up on me and leaving amazing reviews and writing tips. Okay so who's ready for a brand new chapter?**

**Capita Crockett: District 6**

I wake to the familiar scent of a thin coat of dust covering the age yellowed pages of my family's book collections. I look around and realize that I'd fallen asleep on the not-so-comfortable maroon leather arm chair in the study next to the ornate gold lamp, its green glass bulb cover casting and ivy glow over the room. I glance down at the thick book in my lap. It's an old work bound with thick navy blue leather. Engraved on the front of the book is the Capitol seal shining metallic silver in the light.

I turn the book over on its side and read the metallic writing on the spine. _'Panem's Rise and Rebuild'_. I can only assume I was reading this last night before I drifted to sleep although I don't remember even coming into the study. I shrug off the strange feeling and head upstairs to take a quick shower before I get ready for the Reaping.

I turn the copper knob on the bathroom door and step inside. The blue tile floor is cold against my bare feet as I walk over to the shower; I turn the water on and test the temperature with my forearm. I pull my baggy white sleep shirt over my head and slip out of my pajama bottoms and step into the warm shower water. At first I begin to wash myself off but then find myself just standing under the water thinking about the Reaping.

The Reapings began when I was 11 so it gave me a whole other year to work up nerves about it. None of the District 6 tributes have had any direct relation to me so the names being called had a huge effect on my psyche. Even watching the 8 of them die didn't have a huge effect on me, it made me feel bad that I didn't mourn them but I can't go through my whole life mourning every child I see murdered year after year . It'll just hurt me more in the long run.

I step out of the hot water and onto the cold tile and wrap a scruffy white towel around my torso and walk down the hallway to my room. My feet are flooded with warm when I step on the thick beige carpet from the chilly hardwood floor. I toss my towel on the floor and tread lightly across the carpet careful not to disturb my parents who are most likely studying or grading papers below me. In my closet is a large black box on the floor. I kneel down and open the lid revealing a knee length baby blue dress with a fluffed skirt and embezzled top. My mother, Lissie had helped my friend Levy pick it out but made me promise not to look at it before Reaping day. I'd kept my promise resisting unbelievable urge to open the sleek box and sneak and peek.

The dresses simplistic beauty takes my breath away. I lift it gingerly from its box greeted by the pleasured sound of crumpling tissue paper. I finally get up and pull the dress on stand in front of the mirror. The blue of the dress my makes my large blue eyes stand out even more than they usually do. I giddy smile consumes my face and run to the bathroom and finish getting ready.

I stumble down the steps in my dress, twisting my ankle in my silver heels. I enter the foyer where my parents wait for me with my baby sister Cerebella, Levy, her sister, Chessie and their parents.

"Capita!" Levy screams as she rushes towards me, well, rushes as fast as she can while tripping over her ivy heels, "Don't you love your dress! I helped your mom pick it out!"

I laugh, "I love it, Levy! Thank you so much!" I step back from her and observe her tasteful shining leather ivy top and dark black jeans. The outfit makes her seem like a tree when paired with her olive skin and dark hair. The woven bracelets she wears only enhance the image. Her twin sister Chessie wears the same outfit except her top is red and her bracelets are made of flame colored mesh material.

After a little small talk out parents decide it's about time we got headed to the Reaping. The eight of us walk down the cracked sidewalk that leads to the square. A large burgundy statue sits in a pool of water in the middle of the square. To the right of it is a large gray platform that must've been put up overnight. On it sit 2 chairs and 2 glass bowls filled to the brim with white slips of paper. 5 belong to me, 5 for Levy, 5 for Chessie, thousands more for every other boy and girl in District 6. This one small advantage to be slightly anti-social is having less of a chance of someone I love being reaped. Less of a chance of getting hurt by these stupid Games.

I stand silently and push my straight blonde hair away from my face and set it behind my ear as the mayor rambles on and on about the rebellion and how the Hunger Games came to be. I drown him out until our District escort mounts the stage.

The woman's fluorescent yellow wig pains my eyes, as does the rest of her neon ensemble. Pink blazer, green cuffs orange skirt, all of it together mixed with the bright sun sends an annoyed murmur throughout the district. The woman's name, corresponding with her outfit, is Neona. I watch, painfully, as her yellow heels click over to the girls bowl. She pulls out a slip after a moment and her orange lips begin to form the name written on it.

"Capita Crockett!" she exclaims, "Where are you darling? C'mon up!"

She gestures vaguely to the crowd, the groups of girls around me turn in shock and begin clearing a path, a large brute girl behind me pushes me forward and I stumble forward onto the ground. Anger wells within me. 'This', I tell myself, 'This is my strategy: Act tough, be feared.'

I carefully get up and turn toward the girl who shoved me. Her face is ugly, her nose too wide and eyes set too far apart. A form a fist and in one swift motion force it into her grotesque nose. Her straggly dishwater hair flies back and her blood splatters onto the pavement where she lands. I turn on my heels and work my way back to the stage. I mount the wooden stairs and stand next to Neona.

"Well," the woman says after a moment's hesitation, "It seems District 6 may have their selves a real fighter this year." I continue to look straight ahead ignoring her completely.

"Now for the boys," she says releasing my shoulder from her grasp and crosses the stage to the other glass bowl. She pulls a slip near the bottom and clears her throat. The woman taps her green finger nail on the microphone making it screech, I cringe away from her as does everyone in the crowd. After the sound dies down she exclaims the boy's name, "Rae Voltaire!"

I watch as the young boy mounts the stage after he exits the section for the 15 year old boys. As far as District 6 standards go he's quite attractive, even though he's a year below me. His thin frame is toned with hints of muscle. He strides up to the stairs wearing a bright white smile with a swagger to his agate. Atop his head is a mass of thick, messy brown hair that makes his sandy eyes stand out amongst his freckled face.

He stands next to me and we shake hands. Neona concludes the ceremony and leads the two of us into the Justice Building. As soon as the stone doors shut behind us, Rae turns his head away from me. A look at him and I can see the tears gathering in the corners of his eyes. He squeezes his eyes shut and one of his tears splatters onto the floor.


	12. Forbidden Love

**Welcome Back! Only 4 Reapings left! I'd like to let my readers know that after im finished reaping there will only be 4 or 5 chapter until the Games begin. Who's excited? So anyway if you're still with me, its been almost a year since I began NYABY and im glad that you guys have stuck with me. This chapter is a new 'genre' for me. I've never done erotica, but especially never gay erotica, but it's what the situation called for. I hope you enjoy, if not, sorry. (Also I apologize for using the term 'I love you' I cant stand it but still, I hope you like it.)**

Zane Clavell: District 12

"Dude, get up."

Someone shakes my shoulder, but I shrug their hands away and scrunch up my face in distaste.

"Dude, seriously."

'Why can't you just let me sleep?' I think, 'Seriously, five more minutes won't kill you.'

"This is for your own good, man. You brought this on yourself."

'What?'

A second later something wet and warm enters my ear; a tongue. I recoil and push away the tongue's owner.

Romulus lands on the edge of the bed, his body shaking with laughter. I grab a pillow and bring it down on his head. He continues to laugh.

"You're an ass, ya' know?" I say whilst wiping my ear out with the comforter.

Romulus Kay is my best, and most irritating friend. We're both kinda misfits, for different reasons, but misfits none-the-less. We met back in Primary School, back then I was the awkward quiet kid and he was the hyperactive boy, so at first we were friends by default. Eventually I realized that he uses humor as a defense mechanism. He had a rough childhood; his parents were killed for inciting rebellion, so he grew up with his aunt.

I've grown close to Romulus, some might say too close.

"Awe, c'mon," Romulus purrs, "You know you love me." His reddish-brown hair falls in disheveled waves across his forehead. A few strands that fall into his eyes are back grounded by brilliant blue. I swallow and laugh awkwardly.

Romulus climbs on to the bed and flops down beside me. I sit up quickly.

"Why did you wake me so early?" I ask.

A sad look overcomes his face before he answers.

"It's Reaping Day, Zane," He says in a hushed tone, "And I know you're gonna want to spend it with your family and all, but i…"

"You what?" I pry. It's strange for Romulus to be shy in front of me.

"I wanted to spend some time with my best buddy, man," he admits, "just in case."

I flash him a smile and tackle him off the bed. We land on the carpet with a thud. I struggle for a few moments, but eventually I am able to pin him down.

"Think you can get rid of me so easily?" I coy.

We both laugh. Romulus meets my eyes and his smile fades. I'm suddenly very aware that we are touching, that my palms are sweating, that the top three buttons of his shirt are undone, revealing the pale skin of his chest.

I feel my body lean forward as if there is a weight around my neck. My brain doesn't register what is happening. I fit my lips into Romulus'. A surge of warmth rushes through my body. My hands slip from his wrists onto his neck.

My brain races while my body stays perfectly calm. I remember that this kind of behavior is unnatural and that these feelings, if felt, are to be kept secret and never spoken of, and absolutely never put into action. This is wrong, this is so wrong. I smile.

As the corners of my mouth turn up I feel that Romulus is kissing me back. My fingers tug on his hair and he moans.

Someone gasps.

I roll of Rom and he sits up. At the sight of his aunt in the doorway he wipes his mouth. My chest aches. Her hand is clamped over her mouth and tears flood her grey eyes.

We both stand. Romulus is shaking so I grip his hand for reassurance.

I think that Rom's aunt is going to scold us, but she embraces us instead.

"Boys," she says, her voice shaky, "I'm so sorry."

I pull away, keeping Romulus' hand in mine, "Sorry?"

The look in her eyes changes from sadness to sympathy.

"Zane," she says softly, "this, 'situation' is illegal. If the Peacekeepers see you, you will be killed."

Romulus squeezes my hand and my eyes go wide.

I sit on my bed looking at the ground. Romulus sent me home because he needed to talk to his aunt and he wanted me to spend some time with my family.

I'm confused. My mind is a blur with thoughts trying to explain what happened. Rom and I are just friends, I'd never been… attracted to him before. I groan and fall back on my matress.

"Zane?"

I sit up and look through the doorway at my father. My nerves die down a little. My father, Lachlan, has always been able to calm me down. Looking at him is like looking in a mirror. We have the same shaggy black hair, bright green eyes, and tall awkward frame.

"Yeah?" I respond.

"You've got to get ready, Bud." He pauses, "We have to be at the square in an hour."

"Okay, I'll be right down." I say. He recedes down the hallway and I walk to my closet.

After a few minutes I'm dressed in a burgundy button front and black jeans. I run my hands vigorously through my hair and flick my head to the side. There, perfectly chaotic.

I walk down the hallway into the crowded living room. My father sits on the sofa with my mother, Zanna. She's a petite blonde woman; her face accented with faint wrinkles and sun spots, but they are all hidden under the glow of her brilliant, sea blue eyes. She smiles at me as I take a seat next to her on the sofa.

On the rug in front of us, four young children play with plastic tops. My siblings all take after my mother; shiny blonde hair and bright blue eyes.

The oldest of the four is my sister Lacey, at 11, she's exceptionally intelligent for her age. She has a bright smile and a spunky personality giving a mischievous glint to her eye.

Loren and Lysander are twins. Appearance wise they are almost exact copies of one another. Their blonde hair, almost white, curls at the ends and their blue eyes light up their pale complexions. Lysander, however, is much taller than Loren, taller than most 9 year olds for that matter, and he's also very reserved. Loren on the other hand is very active, very social, and surprisingly good with his hands. He can take apart the television remote and put it back together again out of pure intelligence.

The fourth and youngest child stares out into space. My youngest brother, Luca, has severe autism. We do our best to connect with him, but his usual response is a vacant look. His blonde hair is cropped short, but its thickness is still palpable.

A thin boney hand clamps on my shoulder. I look up and see an old man with thinning black hair that stands out against his pale skin.

Boppa Zaden is my mother's father, my grandfather, and he is my favorite person ever. He's not like normal elders, he doesn't talk in circles or tell the same stories over and over. He's normal, he can hold a serious conversation and he's great at giving advice.

I feel like I can trust him with my life. An urge rises up from my gut and I want to tell him about Romulus, but it's a quarter 'til two, it's time to meet the Reaper.

Because none of my siblings are old enough to be eligible for the Reaping, my mother stays home to watch them. I say goodbye and leave before they can start crying. I realize that I may never see their blue eyes and golden hair again. I catch up to Lachlan and Zaden and we head towards the square.

I hug my father and grandfather as we approach the sign in tent. I write my name neatly on the 16 years column and join my peers in the crowd.

Someone tugs at my sleeve, "Zane?"

"Hey Rom," I smile, "You okay?"

He opens his mouth to respond, but a dark figure clears his throat into the mic, the man behind the podium wears a dark robe and hood; his white face and eyes surrounded by a cloud of black eye shadow. His dark façade is unusual for a Capitol citizen. Nobody knows his name so we call him the Reaper.

He says nothing as he floats across the stage to the girls bowl and pulls a random slip. He returns to the mic.

"Vasilisa Brookshier," he hisses.

A tall blonde girl exits the 17 years sector. Tears stream from her blue eyes. She is beautiful, and I should be attracted to her, but I'm not.

I pull Romulus away from the crowd. His shaking makes him seem nervous.

"Rom, look," I take his hands, warranting a few sideways looks in response, but its Reaping Day, people are supposed to be affectionate, " about earlier…" I'm cut off.

"Zane Clavell." The Reaper announces.

Romulus' grip tightens as my eyes go wide, reminiscent of this morning. I know I have to go, so I do. Tears gather in my eyes as I walk away from Rom.

"Wait!" shouts Romulus, "Wait!"

He approaches me and digs around in his pocket and pulls out a black ring and slips it onto my ring finger.

"Take this," he says, tears fill his green eyes, "and remember…"

His hands grasp my face and he kisses me. Butterflies flood my stomach and I feel faint. He pulls away.

"I love you." He says.

"I love you too." I return.

He smiles once more before the Peacekeepers guns riddle his lean body with bullet holes and I finally realize the Capitols absolute hatred of people like me and Romulus, but they need their tribute.

The Peacekeepers come forward and handcuff me. I stare at Rom's dead body in the dirt as they drag me away. I notice things about him that I hadn't before, the slight curve of his strong jaw, the thickness of his red-brown hair. He looks peaceful in death, less on edge.

I also realize that no matter how much skill I possess, I won't survive these Games.


	13. Surprise Bitches

Surprise Bitches

I bet you thought you'd seen the last of me.

Well guess what…

IM BACK

Coming January 2014: Not Your Average Back Yard: The Revival.

Get Ready. :DDDDD


	14. Die While We're Young

**Nina Hollisya: District 3**

I can hear my mother talking on the phone behind me but my excitement drowns out the clarity of her words. It's Reaping Day, the day when I get to show off my wealth and beauty in front of the entire District. The day I get to wave goodbye to the poorer, less lucky souls who are being hauled off to the beauty of the Capitol. I suppose in that sense they are quite lucky. They get to experience the Capitol! I went their once with my mother on business and I was astounded by the sleek metal buildings, their glass gleaming like scales in the sunlight. I love the hustle and bustle of the city, the makeup, and the clothes. It's all so amazing.

I think the reason I love these things so much is because I went the majority of my life without them. I grew in a large foster home on the outskirts of District 3 with about 2 dozen other children. A lot of our parents died in the rebellion and all of the children who were too young to take care of themselves were forced into the home. My parents were among the rebels killed in an air raid.

I remember them clearly enough, but I also remember that when I was with them I was unhappy. However now that I am with my new mother, Haily, I am incredibly happy. She has given me ever thing I could ever want; the money, the clothes, the shoes. I only wish she weren't so busy with work, so that maybe we could actually spend some time together. I feel like I barely know her.

I break out of my flashback when I hear Haily calling my name from the kitchen. I rise from the plush couch I was sitting on, smoothing my skirt as I do so. I skip into the kitchen to see my mother frantically running her hands through her hair. Tears rim her eyes and I feel sympathy and worry rising in my chest like a balloon inflating, the helium threatening to make my chest burst into shreds of flesh and expensive fabric.

"What? What's wrong?" I say in a tone that hovers somewhere between panic and empathy. Her light blues eyes shimmer with tears and her bright blonde hair is scattered and stringy from where she pulled at it. If you didn't know my story you might actually think we were related. My dull blonde hair is accented with streaks of her golden locks and my eyes, while much darker, shimmer just as blue in the sunlight.

"I'm so sorry, Nina," she cries, "I'm so, so sorry." Her tears keep coming, smearing her mascara down over her round smooth cheeks.

My nerves are peaking and I find myself picking at the sequins on my dress. I wear a frilly pink number that flares at the waist. The woman at the Shoppe said that it would be better said for someone with a slimmer, taller frame, but I think it looks fantastic on me. Much better than it would look on anyone else.

"Nina, I've made a huge mistake." Haily goes on, "At work, I've… I've cost the Capitol almost a million dollars on this new project… oh God, oh God." Her words break apart as she bursts into another fit of tears.

"Mom, don't worry its okay! You've been offered tons of jobs here in 3. They might not pay quite as much but we'll be okay!" I say, trying to sound supportive, but in honesty I'm more than a little angry at my mother few screwing up. Her mistake affects me and my life negatively, not just hers. What am I going to do with all my shoes and clothes?

"You don't understand, sweetheart," she says, "The Capitol says I need to pay for what I've done… and the price they said I have to pay is… is…" she shakes her head in disbelief. Her tears have stopped and a stoic firm look of revenge passes over her face, but the despair is still clearly visible in her eyes.

"How much do they want?" I ask.

"They want you, Nina." She says softly, "today at the Reaping, your name will be called. I'm so sorry…"

Her apologies are lost in the void, everything around me is lost. The room goes black and I fall.

**Jared Arrington: District 3**

I have been trying to leave my home now for thirty minutes. It's not that I don't want to be home, or that I dislike my family or anything like that. I just want to get this Reaping over with. I've heard that the first one is the scariest and I've been dreading this day all year.

I tried to tell my mother that I was contempt with just wearing jeans and a buttoned shirt to the Reaping. I know that most of the other kids dress up nicely for it because it's supposed to be a day of "honor" but I seriously just want to feel some kind of familiarity in this strange time. I can feel my mother's fingers shaking as she ties a thin strip of fabric around my neck.

My mother is a hard working and focused woman. She creates technology for the Capitol and is normally very sleek and calculated in her movements but today she is jerky and nervous. I place a hand on her shoulder and smile at her reassuringly, staring deep into her sea blue eyes behind her small wire framed glasses. Their striking beauty stands in stark contrast against the whip of dark black hair that flows from her head. It is the same hair my father has, and myself as well. She gives me a small smile back, and with a sigh her movements become more sound and rhythmic.

Soon the tie is clasped tight around my neck, a streak of burgundy silk racing down the front of my black dress shirt. My mother has also given me a leather belt of the same hue to secure my black slacks around my thin lanky waist. She stands with her arm around my shoulders, my head reaching up to her chest. In this moment I realize how small I am, how thin I am and how awkwardly I move and my mind moves to the Games. What if they call my name? How can I even compete with the huge bulking tributes from 1 and 2? I mean I am good with my hands and electronic things but I'm only 12.

I don't stand a chance.

I shake the thought from my mind as my father enters the room and ruffles my mop of dark hair, the wavy locks falling into my eyes and interrupting my vision. I crack a small smile and look up at him. He is a sophisticated looking man, the pain in his eyes shine back to the years of war and destruction and I feel bad for him because I know the he used to be a successful young man, fit and dashing and ready to take on the world, but now a thin layer of fat falls around his stomach, his eyes and dull and distant, his memory constrained. My mother has tried to get him back to him normal self but he hasn't been the same since the rebellion.

I take my mother's hand in my right and my father's in my left and lead them out of the house and to the square. Somewhere on the walk I realize that out of the three of us I am the most stable and confident. I surge of power and readiness flows through my veins and I begin to walk faster. I will beat these Games this year and for the next 6 years to come. They can't have me.

I am invincible.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

I stand in the square surrounded by the other 12 year old children of my district. That's what we are, I think to myself, we are just kids, this isn't fair. It's not fair for us and it's not fair for the 14 year old girl that stands on the stage. Nina was her name, I believe. She wears a frilly pink dress and expensive shoes but the materialistic beauty is lost on the rest of her. Her dull blonde hair is choppy and flat and her blue eyes are almost a slate gray color and they sit too far apart on her face. She is crying, the tears raining down her cheeks in streams of black mascara like the ashes the burned in the rebellion, or the war paint that decorated the faces of ancient warriors.

My eyes flash to the woman standing in the center of the stage. Now she is beautiful. Robes of elegant white cloths flow freely around her body in the cool wind. The same white fabric is wrapped around her head into an elaborate head dress. Tight cords of black hair poke out of the bottom of the head dress reaching down to the small of her back like ropes. Rubies and emeralds decorate her hair and glimmer in the sunlight beaming down on us. She also wears a thick gold band around her neck that stands out against the unbelievable darkness of her skin. Her large dark eyes peer into the crowd as she reaches her thin dark hand into the bowl full of boys' names.

Her hand jerks out of the bowl, one single slip of paper clasped between her ring and middle fingers. She walks back to the microphone and opens the slip. Her thick accent muffles the name, though my mind recognizes it I cannot comprehend what she has said. It seems, however, that everyone else can. They all turn and look at me with faces of horror, disbelief, and for some, utter relief in their safety. I slowly walk to the stage, waiting for someone, anyone to volunteer for the short, skinny twelve-year-old, but no one does. And in that moment I am alone.

I am a tribute.


End file.
